


Guilty

by Aubrin Kohl (milknhoney)



Series: One Word Prompt Fills [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milknhoney/pseuds/Aubrin%20Kohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond had a bad mission, a very bad mission. He learns why, despite having a sporadic sexual relationship, he has never seen his Quartermaster naked, and regrets most of the words he says to Q.</p>
<p>One Word Prompt fill: scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty

Bond didn’t have anywhere else. He knew if he was alone, he’d hurt himself or someone. So he went to Q’s. Q owned a townhouse in Surbiton, and it was charming. James used the key he had, and went towards the living area, where Q was sitting working on a gun. Q looked up. James didn’t say anything. He merely took a pack of cigarettes in his hand, lighting one.

 

                “Bond,” Q said softly, gently, kindly. It infuriated Bond. He remembered the dying words of the three agents he came back with. He crushed the cigarette in his hand. Q was on his feet instantly, prying his fist open with strength that still surprised James.

 

                “James,” Q’s voice was tight. James looked at him. Emotions swirled in Q’s eyes; kindness, fear, understanding… none of them that Q should feel. James felt his lower lip switch between trembling and anger.

 

                “Sit,” Q commanded, and James didn’t want that either. He didn’t feel like submitting right now.

 

                “No,” James hissed. Q raised his eyebrows.

 

                “Sit,” Q repeated, grabbing James’ wrist and forcing him to sit. James allowed it, glowering.

 

                “Stop,” James practically pleaded.

 

                “Stop what?” Q pried.

 

                “Stop acting like you know what I feel,” James snapped. Q’s eyes shuttered and James knew he had stepped too close to one of Q’s secrets. “You don’t understand, you can’t. I had to listen to three men I knew die and there was nothing I could bloody do about it!” James snarled. “They needed me but I was too weak to get to them! I had to kill six people, people with families, in the past day because some government decided I should!” James couldn’t stop it, even as he witnessed Q look more and more closed off in the way that indicated he was hurt. “You just sit and make toys! You can’t know what it’s like to be in the line of fire!” Q’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath.

 

                “You’ve never seen me naked, have you?” Q asked. James paused, he realized that in the few times he’d had sex with Q, it hadn’t been with Q being naked. Q stood, hands shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt, and then pulled off his undershirt. James felt sick. Q was covered in scars. A bullet wound in his stomach, ritual scarification on his chest, a stab wound in his right rib cage, and he turned so James could see his front. The bullet wound exited his back, his spine had burn scars littering it. Q was trembling as he took off his trousers. His calves stunned James. There had to be upwards of sixty scars between his calves.

 

                “One for every life I’ve taken. These,” he showed the bottom of his feet to James, “are the dates of death of the agent who I was responsible.” Q added. James noted that there was new ink, yesterday’s date three times. The script was tiny, well over three dozen names between the feet. James stared at Q in a mix of shock and disbelief.

 

                “What…” James cleared his throat, jaw working hard. “What happened to you?” James asked. Q’s lip trembled. James stood, kneeling in front of him, gripping his hands. Q smiled slightly.

 

                “I was a double-oh,” Q said. “These are from being in captivity for 18 months,” Q said of the ritual scars. He traced the stab wound. “This was from a fight with a secret agent in Hong Kong.” Q’s thumb brushed over the bullet wound. “I was guarding my mark, and a Russian shot him, through me,” Q shivered. “The burn scars are from being in captivity,” Q added. James wanted to take back his words.

 

                “I listened to them die, too,” Q whispered, voice breaking and jaw trembling. James laid his head on Q’s thigh. Q stroked his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, James. If I’d known you… you didn’t understand,” Q’s voice was still hurt. James made a troubled mewl.

 

                “I’m sorry,” James said into Q’s thigh. “I’m sorry,” James repeated, starting to cry. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” James didn’t know what exactly he was sorry for, but he knew he felt too guilty to not apologize. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he couldn’t stop. Q stroked his hair.

 

                “I know, love,” Q’s voice was strained. “I know,” Q shook beneath him. James turned, staring up at the man who was biting his lip, eyes red and face wet. James climbed up next to him, distressed. He nuzzled Q, kissing the scars he could reach. Q held him to his chest, heaving breath and silent sobs shaking him. Q pulled him close, kissing James, and James could only kiss back, giving himself over to Q’s will knowing that the man would make it all alright.


End file.
